


Staying Together

by kayforpay



Category: Hiveswap, Hiveswap Friendsim, Homestuck
Genre: Chucklevoodoos, F/F, Feelings, Light Bondage, Lovey-Dovey, light bureaucracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 03:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayforpay/pseuds/kayforpay
Summary: You don't want to think about Ascension, or the Ordeals, or leaving your planet, your friends, and your Church. But you have to. At least you can leave with your matesprit by your side.





	Staying Together

“I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date like that. Bureaucratic isn’t what I’d call romantic, usually.” Skylla jokes, looking at the papers still in her hand, with your symbol next to hers under an imperial stamp of approval. “But this was good. I’m glad we got it out of the way.”

Her hand squeezes yours, and you smile down at her. It’s been a long night; the trip from Skylla’s ranch into the city, and then through the court systems, filling out paper after paper, and back to her ranch. The sun isn’t coming up yet, but it’s coloring the sky, and you can feel the tiredness wafting from her tense shoulders and set jaw. At least you’re back here, so the both of you can relax, Skylla especially. Lowbloods aren’t hardly given the time of night, even when you hung all over her to make it clear you were there together. 

Then the mountains of paperwork, ten forms in triplicate asking for a station together as matesprits, legally approved for slurry donation and everything. It took hours, and by the time you finished you both just got something cheap and not that tasty to eat, and headed back, because of course the drone shuttles won’t bring her on.

But, you did it. You’re assigned to the same base, and even the same respite area. Skylla pulls your hand up and kisses your knuckles, and then she unlocks her door, and you almost get bowled over by Ladyy rushing outside to greet you both (but mostly Skylla). It’s almost bittersweet to prepare for your ascension, because it’s accepting that it’s happening. You wish you had more time with her, with Amisia, with your Church, but you just don’t, so you have to take what you have.

Skylla pats Ladyy one more time before letting her run off; apparently she got rid of the lusus thieves she’d told you about, because she gently beckons you inside. “Sun’s gonna come up if we’re not careful. You wanna stay over?” She smiles a little bashfully and you grin, leaning down to kiss her. 

Her jaw fits in your hand comfortably, and she smiles against your lips, even as your fangs press against her lips, and she tosses an arm around your shoulders while you push her door closed. Ladyy will, likely as not, nose around outside for a while, since Skylla still keeps her in when she isn’t hive. She hangs off your shoulders and you hold her around the back, and she presses her face into your neck when you pull back.

“I’m so glad. We’re gonna be on the same base together.” She says, twisting her fingers into your hair. “I wasn’t worried, but it’s nice to know that you’re stuck with me for sure now.”

You chuckle, leaning down to nuzzle against her pretty face, your nose bumping hers. “I got a little worry on myself. Thought we’d miss the opening and someone else would snatch your cute self up.” Skylla rolls her eyes at that, but you can see the flush on her cheeks from it too. 

“Since when do you worry?” She asks, though she muffles herself by kissing you before quite finishing the question, and you laugh into the kiss, bending at the knees to scoop her up in your arms and trailing your kisses over her jaw, pressing your fangs against her skin playfully. “Aren’t you supposed to be the laid back one? Why’re you worrying when I’m not?”

You nip at her neck, soaking in the warmth of her and the deep, gorgeous laugh she lets out when you do, your hands shifting to cradle her more to your chest. Even as tall as she is for a bronze, she’s still smaller than you, small enough to carry comfortably in your arms even through her slightly too-small hive. Too small for you, anyway.

Her block smells like her, warm and clean and comforting, and you hope she’ll bring that with her to the block you share. You’re not worried she won’t, though. She takes up every inch of your pan when you’re with her, her scent and warmth and the color under her cheeks, the strong set of her jaw and the way she talks, not rushed or worried or putting on any pretenses. Any room with her in it is a room centered around her.

You seat yourself on her platform, her legs settled on either side of your lap. You kiss her again, and her claws drag against the bases of your horns, her purr rumbling in her thorax when you tangle a hand in her hair. Your own purr drowns out the sound of hers, but you feel it through her back, and your pan is spreading before you even think about it, opening to her the way you bend to her touch. Skylla sighs, her kiss going sloppy for a second as you sink yourself into her pan, just barely.

Skylla radiates the calm, constant, knowing love you’ve read about more than seen, not infatuation or physical only, but soft. Pulsing like a pusherbeat in the back of her pan, a constant knowing of you, of your differences and needs and likes and everything you know about each other, the kind of knowing love that makes you feel solid and real.

And now, a gentle heat bubbles under her love for you, a heat that settles between her thighs and burns itself into your own pan. It makes you want to taste her, so you do, holding her jaw gently and unbuttoning her top with your other hand. Skylla makes a soft, almost-moan at that, and wriggles out of her shirt without pulling away, not until her lips are wet and she’s the tiniest bit out of breath.

“Chahut, thank you.” She says, and you pause in pushing her undershirt up her ribs. “For doin’ that with me. Getting registered together. I didn’t doubt you but I worried it might fall to the wayside, with you having church duties and me being out here like I am. I was worried we wouldn’t make the deadline.”

You kiss her, gently. “Thought you said you wasn’t worried, sweet thing.” She snorts, slapping your arm for teasing her, and you kiss her again. She tastes like warmth and you adore her, her easy smile and the muscles under her skin that twitch when you drag your claws over her sides.

Ticklish trolls are a miracle in themselves, you think, and moreso that you’re dating one of them. Truly, a motherfucking almighty blessing to have Skylla in your arms, now and, with luck and bureaucratic process on your side, forever.

Maybe you’re sappy, but you love her. You’re due some sappiness, having found someone as important and wonderful as her to hold onto. It’s rare, for someone your age, and to have her be someone outside the church as well. Miracles on miracles.

You kiss her nose, and then her forehead, your hands sliding up her back while you let your pan blanket over hers, every intangible thing you have in your pusher for her sinking into her and her own thoughts melting into your pan. She’s warm, warming more under your hands and, when you lean her head back, your lips, half-purrs vibrating under your teeth when you bite at her throat, so gently you almost can’t feel it. You would never want to hurt her, though, so gentle is the way to go.

Her back arches as you move down, kissing between her rumblespheres before trailing back up, still holding her at that same angle. Her hair hangs down like a black waterfall, smooth between your fingers when you stroke a hand through it, and her chest raises in a calm, slow rhythm that sets you even more at ease. When you first started dating her, you worried you’d be too slow for her, too methodical in how you wanted to court and have her, but it was perfect. You were in sync, taking long, calm dates and, more importantly, your time.

You lay back, pulling her along with you, so she’s sitting more on your hips and leaning her chest to yours. With the shape of your horns, there’s not a lot you can do without smacking them on stuff, but she’s never complained about you laying back for her. And, on your side, you’ve never minded having her over you. Skylla’s hair falls over her shoulders and tickles your neck, and you slide your hands down her back, over the curves of her hips, and hook your fingers in her waistband. She smiles against your mouth, wiggling her hips while you push her pants down, and then she’s out of reach as she sits up to squirm the rest of the way out of her clothes. 

She drops an honest to god lasso onto your chest, from her sylladex, and you snicker. It’s the same soft, ribbon-like rope she’s used before, but you suppose she got bored and tied it into some fancy ropework. She sits back against your waist as she starts untying it and measuring it out, and you chuckle again, waggling your eyebrows slightly.

“Should I get on up and start running for you to chase a motherfucker down, sweet thing?” You skitter your claws up her sides and she squirms, laughing and slapping at your hands. “Get a rodeo on up in this bitch.”

You buck your hips a little to make her bounce, and she makes a half-snorting laugh, gently slapping your hands off her sides. “Maybe later. I’ve already got you caught, though. No need doing it twice in one night, right?” Her hands slide down your arms, and you hold your arms against your horns for her to tie them.

While you have one free hand, you pinch her ass and smile wider, bucking up against her again and making her giggle, slapping your shoulder and finishing up. “We can do it as many times as we want, sweet thing. Got no time limit on being with you now.” Even as you flirt, and as she ties your other hand down, your pan suffused with a burst of her sweet, all-consuming love, her excitement.

You’re so motherfucking blessed, having a sweet mate with those big antlerbeast eyes and her gentle hands and the way she cares so fucking much about other trolls, even trolls she’s never met. And you, even being your caste and in the church and following the RIGHTEOUS MOTHERFUCKING GOSPEL doesn’t stop her from caring about you, from loving you.

And you’re going to stay with her forever, and you’re more than elated; you’re  _ giddy.  _ Her hands slide back up your arm once you’re secured, and you lift your chin to ask for another kiss. She kisses you lightly, almost teasingly, and you pull at the binds to try and pull her down to yourself, and only barely reach her thighs with your hands. Skylla smiles, settling in on her elbows over you to kiss you again, a little deeper, taking her time now that you can’t pinch or even really touch her.

Her hair falls around you like a curtain, softer than it looks, but she moves back too soon, sitting up to unclasp your top and pushing it just slightly down your arms, just out of the way. She gropes at your rumblespheres, smiling to herself, and you wiggle a little under her hands, to settle more comfortably with how your hands are tied. She pushes the bottom half open after a few more seconds of feeling you up, and you wriggle more, both to resettle and to try and speed her up.

“I’m enjoyin’ myself.” She says, kissing you in a very ineffective reprimand. “Don’t rush me. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

You love her. You also really love the sight of her naked, and on top of you, and your hands tied down beside your sides. You don’t want to rush, but you do want to continue. “Heartsis, I love you, but you’ve got a mean streak against a clown.” You say, and she smooches one of your fangs lightly, then your nose, crawling up over you. 

Oh, you can do this, too. She flushes hard, that pretty bronze of hers matching a higher boil in the back of her pan, under her skin, as she kneels over your face. She’s not out yet, her nook just slightly swollen, but you can fix that. The first swipe of your tongue makes her gasp, her hips twitching away for a moment, and then she moves closer as you follow it up with another. Her taste is heady and sharp, blanketing your tongue as you coax her closer, her heat melting the natural cold of your tongue as you go, her thighs twitching gently. She’s gorgeous, making soft, high noises above you, rocking her hips minutely.

Your hands twitch against the bonds on your wrists, but you can’t reach far before your horns ache, as much as you would love to hold her hips and pull her down until she was shuddering. As is, you just lean your chin as much as you can to catch her, matching her sweet little noises with your own rougher ones, humming softly against her and letting her feel each vibe of adoration you have for her as you do, your voodoos sparking a little stronger to be sure of it. Her hips twitch a bit more at that (or maybe you’re imagining it, but you think you’re not), and she leans over your head, pressing her hands against the wall behind her platform and giving you better access.

Sucking her pleasurenub, as ever, makes her jolt, and makes her bulge writhe free from her sheathe. She grabs it before it can slick over your cheek, because she knows that your paint is important, even if you can’t fully explain the depth to which that’s true, and you purr your thanks, hands twitching again when you try to reach for her to keep her from twitching away, because the noises she makes when she can’t are nearly music, high and stuttering, chittering in a way that makes you wet. She doesn’t fully pull away, though, just partially, and you do your best to get those gorgeous sounds out of her.

“Ah, Chahut.” She mumbles, sitting back to have a free hand to push through your hair. “I love you.”

You moan against her again, following her as she lifts herself back up with your mouth open. You can feel her warmth leaving you as soon as she stops touching you, and you lick your lips with only a little disappointment. “I got no room in my pusher for any other troll but you, Skylla.” Her eyes flick aside as you say that, that precious embarrassed look coming over her face, and you struggle to think of more to make her react more; it’s not easy to get her flushed and bashful, after all.

She scoots back, careful not to drag your hair as she goes, and you make a little comment about missing the view, and your beloved mate flicks your grubscar with a grumbly snort of air that makes you want to kiss her even more than having her nook on your mouth made you want to kiss her. She’s so  _ cute,  _ you can’t help but tease her a little bit. She settles at your waist, and you hold her thighs as much as you can with the angle your hands are stuck at, lifting your chin with an affectionate trill to ask for a kiss.

Skylla kisses you, curling her hand around the back of your head and her bulge twisting against your abdomen. You rock your hips up against her, and she presses herself against you, so you can just grind up against her. You’re interested, but your bulge isn’t out, and then she’s moving to kiss down your throat, her lips spots of heat moving slowly lower on your neck, to the point where your shoulder meets it, and then she pauses at your collarbone to shuffle herself lower on your body.

Her lips press to your sternum, dotting down a line from the top to the underside of your ribs, and she pauses to nuzzle against your skin there, over your rushing pusher, and you melt, making grabby hands at her because you love her and you want to hold her. She purrs, stroking her hands down your sides and settling them at your hips. She totters as she continues her path down your body, and then steps neatly to the floor, and you hear her kicking clothes out of the way. 

You lift your hips, pressing your heels against her platform, and she undoes your pants and pulls them down, and you obligingly let her pull them off your legs instead of kicking them off yourself, and she leans her cheek on your hip, stroking her hand up your chest to cup your cheek. The only downside to this is that you can’t look up at her, damn your horns. Still, you purr and lean your head into her hand as much as you can, and she kisses your hip with a smile on her lips that you can feel.

Her pan is filled with fluttery thoughts, most of them mirroring yours, adoring and excited and bright, full of love for you as much as you are for her. “I love you.” Skylla’s voice is all soft and wonderful, like you’re the most amazing person she’s ever seen, like you’re more than everything she could hope for, and you trill again, because you don’t have words that you can say without crying and killing the mood.

After a second of you both just purring at each other, she giggles and nuzzles against your hip, then nibbles your skin, and trails more kisses across your front, one hip to another, her hands on your thighs and her hair tickling your skin. Maybe you should have given her a chance to tie it up, but you like being able to run your hands through it, and it’s better when you don’t try to do so and yank her head with the tie on accident; it makes cuddling a little less nice to have to start it with apologizing. Besides, you love her hair, and it’s never gotten in the way before.

Skylla bites your hip hard enough to sting, pulling up a hickey while you wiggle under her, and your sheathe swells slightly. Between not being able to reach her and the constant flood of infatuation in her pan for you, you’re flushed under your paint hot enough you almost worry it’ll melt.

The tip of her tongue presses into the slit of your sheathe and you whine, squirming under her heat, and she trills at you, easing your thighs apart to kneel between them. It only takes a second before your bulge is twisting out against her lips, and she opens her mouth with a low groan, taking your bulge into her mouth while you try not to sit yourself up to look at her, because you’ll only end up hurting yourself.

You moan her name, your ears flicking and your thighs twitching, as she gently bobs her head, her tongue pressing against your bulge and making you struggle to lay still. Every noise she draws out of you makes her pan light up with another soft blossom of love for you, and you’re actually embarrassed by it, as much as you do like it. You knew she liked the way you sounded talking, and you assumed it carried, but you hadn’t really considered that she loved it that much. You clamp your mouth shut for a second just examining her pan and the thoughts she has; you, leaving, what your housing block will be like wherever you end up, your lack of sound.

She strokes your bulge from base to tip, purring with just the tip in her mouth, and you groan her name again, your ears turning hot from the satisfied hum she makes and how it vibrates against your bulge. She kisses down the length of your bulge, skips your nook and bites your thigh, nuzzling against your skin and stroking your bulge casually. Her nose nuzzles against the joint of your thigh and she inhales softly, purring low in her throat. Your hands twitch, trying to reach for her, and your bulge wraps around her fingers, more impatient than you actually are.

Not to say you’re not impatient, though. If you had your hands free, you’d probably pick her up and press her to the platform, smother her with kisses and pail her until her sweet voice cracked. As it is, you’re whining, squirming against your bonds and the platform, both trying to thrust into her hand and trying to reach for her at the same time, but she’s out of reach and moving further away, standing up with her hands on your thighs instead of your bulge or nook or, at least, your own hands. If you could trust yourself not to forget the scene, you’d want her to hold your hands down against the platform.

Maybe another time.

She crawls up onto the platform with you, her warm thighs pressing to either side of your hip and her nook slick against the base of your bulge, hot and slick and gently teasing. You moan into her mouth when she kisses you, her hands on your shoulders while she rocks her hips to grind against your bulge, her own bulge seeming to wake up and twist around your bulge a bit. Her voices are muffled against your mouth, but you can’t honestly complain about kissing her while she grinds her pleasurenub against your bulge; it’s good, it feels good and you love kissing her, you love her. Her lips are soft, warm, her teeth drag at your bottom lip just so when she pulls away from the kiss.

You sit up just a tiny bit to try and follow her, and she presses you back down, kissing at your neck and jaw, nibbles the edge of your earlobe and makes soft little gasping moans as you grind up against her, your bulge folding back on itself to find her entrance. She shivers and jerks her hips down against you, mewling as your bulge twists up into her, slowly. You croon, her heat melting into you and making you shiver. 

Skylla leans over you, pulling a bit away from your bulge, and stuffs a few pillows under your head, and you adore her, and tell her as much. She sits back, her head falling back, and you watch her stroke her bulge as she takes you, easing herself down slowly with an almost dreamy look in her eyes, her bottom lip bit between her teeth and her thighs just barely shivering as she doesn’t quite bounce so much as rock, taking you smoothly and making you writhe and whine. She’s so hot inside, perfect and teasing all at once with how she makes sure you can see her, makes sure she goes slowly. You’re in love with her.

After a period of time that’s probably closer to a minute but feels like an hour, she rests her full weight against your hips, and you groan, bucking up against her and earning a long, deep noise that rattles your spine and makes your nook clench on nothing. She’s so fucking good. You want to kiss her, but your trills and requests are drowned out by the constant thundering purr you have, seeing her sitting on your bulge and looking down at you with so much love, her pan radiating almost as much warmth as her actual body.

She could melt a glacier if she tried.

Finally, she kisses you again, and you’re weak, rolling your hips slow and in a steady rhythm with hers. Your chucklevoodoos get just a touch heavier, just a bit more into her head, feeling her bliss and physical enjoyment of you pailing her. You hold her thighs as well as you can, your fingers just reaching, and she leans over you to kiss you again, her hips moving languidly. She’s almost overwhelming like this, with your pans linked and her scent in the air and the way she kisses you like there’s nowhere she’d rather be, so you’re more than happy to let her move on her own and let you just be caught up with all of her and what makes her so wonderful.

That said, you would like to hold her at the same time, but you’re still happy to just be able to watch her, and kiss her, feel her moving with you and her pan lighting up as she does, as that slow boil behind her consciousness bubbles higher with each move she makes. She sits back up and leans her hands on your thighs, letting her head fall back as she moves, and you trill at her, the column of her throat showing all defenseless and trusting at this angle, her chest rising and falling with her softly echoing noises. She’s stunning.

Your hips roll up against hers and she sinks her claws just so into your thighs, her head rolling forward and her hair falling across half her face and framing her beautifully. You wish you could paint her like this, not because you can see your bulge disappearing into her and it makes you shiver, but because she looks artistic, soft and smiling, her lips wet and her eyes closed halfway.

“Stunning, Skylla.” You purr, your own voice breathy in your ears and too loud, partially drowning her out. “Motherfucking miraculous. Art on high.”

Her ears turn brown and she huffs something like a laugh, her legs twitching in against your hips. “I was just thinkin’ something similar.” She says, leaning back over you to press her face against your neck. “I love you so much, Chahut. I love you.” She purrs, rolling her hips against yours slowly, letting her weight do more of the work than her legs, and working in time with you moving against her.

“Love you, heartsis.” You murmur, lifting your chin to kiss her now that she’s in reach. Her eyelashes are so long they nearly brush your cheek when she kisses down your jaw, hides her face in your neck. “Love you.”

Her hand slides down your arm, to your bound wrist and over the rope, and you lace your fingers with hers, purring gently. The angle isn’t perfect, but you manage to hold her hand right back, and she moves just a little bit faster against you, her breath warm and damp against your neck and her hair ticklishly falling over your ribs. Her pan is full of you, your scent and your color and the taste of you stuck in the back of her throat, every thing shrouded with that same adoring, gentle love as when you first discussed going to the same station with her.

You love her so much it almost hurts. Her hand tightens on yours as her noises get more gasped, louder, and her hips move more jerkily, halfway just grinding her bulge against your stomach. You turn your head as much as you can and croon at her, caught up with her breathy voice and her lips brushing against your neck and her nook twitching around you as she goes.

It falls quiet, besides your breaths mingling and her kissing you again, until she spills, gasping your name with her face pressed to your hair, and her warmth spills over your abdomen while her nook twitches around you, and your hips jolt up against hers. Skylla moans, this sweet little sound, and kisses you all slow and deep, her hips jerking while you croon and nip at her lips.

You press your hips up against hers as you spill, letting your pan spread into hers more because you can’t focus to snap the connection shut than because you want to mix your pans together. Still, you feel almost as much as she feels when your cold fills her, and she cuddles against you, her thoughts travelling too fast to keep up with, but most have to do with her love with you, not just for you but the way you love each other, the fact that you’re there with her and you’ll be with her as long as she can stand you.

After a few seconds of her kissing your face and fangs, she unties your hands, and you wrap her in a tight hug, rolling on your side to hold her against your chest and smother her face with kisses. She giggles, nuzzling against your face and pulling you both the rest of the way to you laying on top of her instead of against your horn, and you nuzzle her right back, purring in your chest so loud it makes your teeth rattle in your skull. You love her so fucking much, and you tell her as much, kissing her again and again as the material on your skin goes from cool to tacky and gross, and eventually you have to sit back and pull her along with yourself.

Skylla wraps her legs around your waist and her arms around your shoulders, and you kiss her again, carrying her from her platform to her abulationstrap, because you’ve sealed your paint a few times over before going out, since there was a rain advisory, and because you’re sticky and you love holding her in the bath. She slumps contentedly against your chest, kissing your neck and jaw and purring, and you rinse her, pausing only when she takes your hands to examine your wrists to make sure they’re not too bruised.

You don’t take a long bath, because the night has been long, and Ladyy is pawing at the door, and the sun has crept well over the horizon while you’ve been busy with her. You let her stand and wrap a towel around herself, and watch her walk to let her lusus in, and then latch the door, calling out that you’re not going anywhere unless she tells you to leave, and she rolls her eyes as she comes in to where you’ve stood up to dry yourself off.

“I would never send you away. I never will.” She says, casually, like it isn’t the most heart-rending sweet-tooth shit you’ve ever up and heard. “Lets go to coon.”

You agree, and kiss the top of her head, and squeeze into her coon. She lays on your chest, and you slather slime over her back and shoulders, massaging it in to relax her muscles, until she’s snoring gently. Only then do you let yourself doze off, arms secure around your matesprit. Your one and only matesprit, until the end of your stationing and past that, into the Dark Carnival.

**Author's Note:**

> I love these gals.  
> 


End file.
